


Electric Feel

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Short & Sweet, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Randy catches up to the rest of the group easily enough. Carrie snorts. It’s almost like he’s married to a yoga instructor.





	Electric Feel

Midafternoon sunlight peeks through one of the blinds in Carrie Robinson’s yoga studio. It’s a modestly sized two room space, the back room predominantly used for aerial yoga and the occasional private session. The dim lights create the illusion of cool temperature as a hundred and five degrees of heat thrums through the vents. 

The essential oil diffuser in the back of the room is filtering scents of geranium, citrus, and eucalyptus. Best of all, MGMT plays softly throughout the room. Carrie smiles to herself. Nothing could be more her element than leading a hot fusion class. 

“Inhale into cobra, keep your pelvis glued to the floor and your chest wide and open to the ceiling,” Carrie says she demonstrates at the front of the room. “Hold it there for ten...and then getting on the balls of your feet, exhale and push your hips back into downward facing dog.” 

The door creaks open, groaning as someone shuffles in loudly. Carrie turns her head to see none other than her husband awkwardly trying to lay out his Falconers’ blue yoga mat in the back corner of the room where there clearly isn’t space. 

“There’s plenty of room up here,” she chirps. “Remember to inhale, on the exhale push your hips further toward sky, allow your head and neck a moment of rest.” 

In the corner of her eye, she notices a few of her new students cringe while some of her regulars chuckle. She notices person who’s clearly a hockey fan gape as Randy begrudgingly rolls out his mat perpendicular to hers. 

“Alright, on inhale pick your left leg behind you as high as you can, and on exhale sweep it forward so your ankle is parallel to wrist,” Carrie says. “It’s ok if you need to pick up your foot to readjust.” 

Randy catches up to the rest of the group easily enough. Carrie snorts. It’s almost like he’s married to a yoga instructor. 

“Turn your right foot so that the outer edge is parallel to the mat. On inhale, you’re going to rise up, engaging those core muscles and tightening them to really feel that inner strength. Keep your arms straight and strong.” 

The class follows decently well. Some people readjust as necessary, Randy included. The song changes to something by Alt-J. 

“We’re going to be here for a minute, so feel free to bounce your left thigh a little, feel that burn as you push your body deeper into warrior 2. Remember to keep your knee parallel with your ankle...and to breathe.” Her eyes flicker to a young man in the middle of the room. “That means you, Nathan.”

Soft chuckles break the relative silence of the room. Carrie takes herself out of the position, standing up to make her way around the room to give a few students some minor adjustments. 

“Now turn your palms skyward, lean your left arm forward and down into triangle pose,” Carrie says. 

She helps two of the beginners before checking on Randy, who is notoriously horrible at triangle pose. By the frown on his face and the way he’s intensely staring at the studio’s popcorn-textured lilac ceiling, Carrie knows he’s really trying. However, it’s her job to make sure no one—most of all her husband—gets hurt through in correct poses. 

“Bend this knee a little more,” Carrie murmurs as she presses down on his knee gently. “Back is bent a little too forward, and let's bring you out of that bend a little.”

Randy huffs. Carrie has to stop herself from kissing his sweaty forehead. She really is a sucker for a man who, despite the results, keeps trying. 

“Exactly,” Carrie tells him. “Focus on your breathing, I’ll make sure these insured hockey thighs don’t give out.” 

Class flies by quickly. It always does when she’s got a good group of people who are dedicated to their practice, regardless of whether they’ve been doing yoga for twelve years or twelve days. Randy helps her spray down and wipe the floors as the last of her students trickle out, bidding them both a nice weekend. 

“I thought you weren’t back until late tonight,” Carrie says she turns the heat down. She starts fanning out the room with the front door. 

“I may have bribed a few people to let me take a health scratch and an earlier flight home,” Randy explains casually. 

“Oh?” she asks with a slight grin. “And who would be involved in that bribing?”

“A few coaches, an assistant GM…” he says. “Maybe an alternate captain whose boyfriend offered to babysit tonight.” 

“You poor thing. I can’t imagine what you had to promise to get all of that to happen,” she says, shaking her head. 

Randy shrugs. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“I’m sure of that,” Carrie says as she unplugs her phone from the speaker system. “Remember that time in Cabo? With the whales we just had to see?” 

“We saw them eventually, didn’t we?” Randy counters. 

“Sammy thinks San Diego is a part of Mexico now,” she says. 

“It should be.”

“One day you’re going to have to explain that to her.” 

“Of course I will,” Randy says, approaching her bashfully. “When she’s old enough to appreciate the gesture.” 

“Uh huh,” Carrie says with laugh. “So now, you said we have a babysitter for  _ tonight _ , but it’s only noon.” 

“How about we pull Sammy out of school and grab lunch, just the three of us?” he offers. 

Carrie runs her thumb across his jaw line. She gets on her tiptoes to kiss him. He wraps his arms around her waist for leverage, pulling her in close. They haven’t seen each other for the better part of a week. Not that Carrie is complaining. Sammy’s in school now, and it’ll be another couple seasons before Randy retires. In the meantime, they have little moments like this to make up for the long hours and time apart. 

They have a rhythm. Eventually, they won’t need it. The thought makes Carrie grins harder into Randy’s lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - Electric Feel by MGMT (aka one of my favorite songs to practice yoga to) 
> 
> side note: can you tell that I both have practiced yoga for many years and suck at triangle pose?


End file.
